


The Pain of Parting

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Apologies, Awkward Flirting, Blood, Comrades, Crossing Timelines, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, French Revolution, Friendship/Love, Immortality, Immortals, Knives, London, Minor Injuries, Murder, Nursing wounds, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Stabbing, Stripping, Tea, Teasing, The TARDIS Ships It (Doctor Who), Theft, Time Travel, Uneasy Allies, Victorian, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25933462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Life can get lonely for an immortal trapped on the slow path. Surrounded by humans with a life span comparable to insects, it’s difficult to keep a positive view of the world and not get lost in the shadows. As the reader moves through the centuries, watching civilisations fall, wars rage and lives end, she clings to the hope and goodness of the people around her, praying that it’s enough to keep her sane.On her never ending path, she eventually bumps into a handsome, if odd, stranger who has the unfortunate habit of pulling the reader into wild situations. His repeated presence throughout the years reignites something inside her, a love for life which she thought long lost.They strike an undefinable friendship, which very much borders on antagonistic, but the connection is there from the first time they meet. She can’t always remember his face with her memories fading over the centuries but it never takes long to identify The Master and the spark for life returns brighter than ever when he is around.Each meeting reminds her that regardless of the hardships that a long life can still be exciting and that there are always new adventures if you look hard enough (or create your own kind of trouble).
Relationships: The Master (Dhawan)/Reader, The Master (Doctor Who) & Reader, The Master (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 35
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

On the wind, a strange sound drifted towards you. Deep and wheezing, like the Earth itself was groaning, calling out to a distant stranger. The air grew heavy, shimmered as something clawed its way from the depths of the ether into being. There, where once had been an empty clearing, now stood a tree. Tall and proud, the leaves twitched in the gentle breeze, flickering like a hundred tiny red flames in the setting sun. 

Drawn closer by the utter fantastical nature of its sudden appearance, you held your hand over the rough bark and jumped back. The tree was vibrating. Alone, without backup, you moved closer again and pressed your ear to the trunk, amazed to hear a steady, almost mechanical grumble beneath the bark. 

Stumbling backwards, you circled the tree for signs of demonic interference but no obvious carvings or marks presented itself. In fact, there was a decided lack of anything odd or out of the ordinary about the tree. It was as if it had been allowed to grow for years in isolation, away from the games of children and fights of men. Not a single scratch, not a bullet hole nor sign that any animal had made this tree its home. 

At the sound of heavy footsteps, you dived behind the nearest bush. Reluctant to take your eyes off the mysterious tree, regardless of who else might be around, your jaw fell open as a man stepped out from the thin trunk. You rubbed your eyes but he still remained. Not a figment of your imagination. A demon? An angel? How were you to tell the difference?

He was handsome - that was your first thought, one not so quickly dismissed. His clothes suggested that he was not from around here, the deep colours and curious fit unlike anything you’d seen the local gentry parade themselves around in. And yet he wore a similar arrogance, the entitlement of a lord as he sauntered off down the path. A man of wealth, indeed. 

Careful to place your steps, you followed him silently through the forest, trailing like a shadow. 

You soon came to a stretch of road surrounded by thick trees, the sharp corner providing you the perfect place from which to finally step from the shadows. In a swift, well practised movement, you pulled free your gun and leapt out onto the road. You pressed the end of the pistol to the man’s temple. “Your money or your life.”

“You’re wasting both of our time. I have no money.”

“Do not lie to me, Sir. Your jacket alone - strange as the design may be - would sell for ten pounds at least!”

Despite the gun to his head, the man grinned. “Finally, a woman who sees the worth of my wardrobe.”

So he was smarter than he looked, then. Very few saw past the gun in their face, even fewer past the mask that obscured your face. Those that did were too consumed with the loss of their material wealth and blow to their ego to ever consider that they were actually held up by a woman.

You cocked your gun, pressed the tip harder against his temple. “Hand over your money, Sir. I shall not ask again." 

"Bored now. This isn’t fun anymore." 

He shoved you back with more speed and strength than the gentry often possessed. You hit the ground with a thud, landing awkwardly on your wrist. To add insult to injury, as the lord crushed your hand beneath his boot, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a contraption, a strange metallic box. Wielding it proudly, a manic gleam in his eyes, the man asked, "Any last words?”

No matter how you fought, you couldn’t free your hand. Your gun was out of reach and the lord was laughing at you. You’d been in worse situations, though, and - if you were being honest with yourself - this was the sort of challenge, the exhilarating life and death situation that you’d been missing. 

The setting sun cast shadows on his face, giving weight to your demon theory. You looked up without fear and asked, “What is that thing?”

“You’re not begging for your life.” He sounded so disappointed, it was almost comical. 

“Never.”

“Come on. Let me hear you plead.” He crouched down, the pressure on your hand increasing to an exceptionally painful level. His grin widened as you hissed a refusal. “Just a little. Go on. For me. For your Master.”

“I have no master.”

You pulled a dagger from your boot with your free hand and sliced his ankle. Not deep enough to do permanent damage but the sharp bite of your blade threw him briefly off stride. Rolling out from his shadow, you scrambled to your feet and, with a well placed kick, knocked your gun from the lord’s range. 

He grabbed at air as you dodged his grasp. Seconds later, the tree behind which you took desperate shelter vanished, the odd device in his hand flickering green. First a tree appeared out of nowhere, then a man stepped from inside one too thin to home a raven and now this: a tiny tree in the place of a great oak. What was happening in this forest today? 

He pointed the flashing device at you, his expression somewhere between intrigue and anger. “Give me your dagger.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

His finger twitched against the contraption, a warning - the only one you’d get, you suspected. Reluctantly, you handed it over. He looked it over with a keen gaze, appreciative of the craftmanship. “This is old.”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.” Without another word he pocketed your dagger, his lips twitching in amusement as you took careful note of exactly where he hid it. 

You stood silently for a long moment before he lowered the flashing box, putting it away in a different pocket to your weapon. All those pockets and yet he still wished you to believe that he carried no money. That was not at the forefront of your mind, though. Backed up against a tree, one you hoped would not simply up and walk away, you felt his gaze on you, soaking up every detail. 

Returning the favour, you took him in again. The setting sun cast deep reds across his face, sharpening his already angular features. The light revealed something in his eyes, something dark and twisted. A demon, of some kind, for certain. 

Many Sunday school lessons better slept through ran through your mind, cautionary tales to avoid such tricksters. And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away, not when he was the most interesting person - or, possibly, creature - you’d come across for years. 

You took a cautious step forward. “You are not of England, are you, Sir?”

A short laugh fell from his lips. “This awful country? Definitely not.”

“Your homeland, it’s far from here.”

“Indeed. Now, enough chit-chat. I could use a woman of your skills.”

Of that, you had no doubt. You took another step back into the clearing. The air had changed between you; it tingled with potential and you were not so foolish as to waste an opportunity like this. “To what end?”

“There’s a manor not far from here. The lady of the house has in her collection something that I desire.”

“I am no common thief, Sir.”

“Precisely. Your skills are far more valuable.”

You crossed your arms and put on the pretence of considering his cause, as if you hadn’t already reached a decision. “Suppose I do aid your endeavour, what shall I receive in return for my assistance?”

The lord closed what gap remained between you, his presence almost crushing. Power radiated from him, disguising the mess of emotions beneath with a dazzling show of confidence. He lifted a hand to your cheek, the rough calluses on his fingers surprisingly delicate against your skin. Perhaps not a nobleman, then. Rich but not by birth, a man who had suffered and grafted his way up to higher society. Interesting. 

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. Without the sun reflecting in his eyes, you noticed that they were in fact a light brown, far from the demonic red of before. Still, beneath the facade of humanity, you could sense the danger. It was, frankly, intoxicating. “What do you desire?”

He traced the edge of your mask with his finger, brushing your skin as he teasingly moved to push it away. Before he could, you stepped away, a light smile on your lips. Whatever he might believe, you would not be so easily swayed by his charms. 

“I desire your coat.”

“I shall consider it,” he muttered, in a tone which suggested the exact opposite. Turning on his heels, he set off down the path. 

You let him get a few steps before you said, “Lady Me’s estate is west of here.”

The not-lord stopped in his tracks, pausing a second before he spun around. Hands in his pocket, he strode back to the clearing where you stood and asked, “Excuse me?”

“There are only a few noble houses of note in these parts. Only one of those is managed by a ‘she’.”

He hummed. If you didn’t know better of men like him, you’d have said he almost sounded impressed. Your suspicions were confirmed with a backhanded compliment: “You’re smarter than you look.”

“If you mean to say that as a woman I -”

“Of course not. I meant for a human.”

“You speak as though you are not one yourself.”

“Perhaps I’m not.”

You laughed, shaking your head in amusement. In the back of your mind, though, you found yourself taking his word seriously. After all, with what you’d seen today, how could he possibly be of this world? Beginning down the road, in the right direction, you said, “You are a curious man. I say, if we are to be partners in this, I should be privy to your name.”

“You may call me Master.”

It took you a moment to realise that he was not joking. Men, always the same, no matter where they hailed from. He stared expectantly, awaiting you to return the favour and provide him with your name. Well, if he wouldn’t share with you his, then you saw no reason to give him yours. 

“You may call me Grace.”

The Master smirked, obviously aware of your reluctance to share your identity with a stranger. He jumped a few steps ahead of you and gave a mock bow, so over the top and dramatic that he further disproved your earlier suspicions of a noble birth. No lord would ever act this way, not even after an entire barrel of wine. “Your Grace.”

Shaking your head, you pushed him upright and continued down the path with haste. “Come, Master. I am not the only highwayman to patrol these roads. With some luck, we might reach Lady Me’s estate before dark.”

“Lead the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

Twilight fell as you approached the edges of her land. The dim sky masked your movements but you weren’t foolish enough to believe that this would be easy. Lady Me was well known to those on the fringes of society. Unlike most, she actually had the resources to protect herself from the threats to her comfortable existence, real or imaginary. 

There was also The Master to contend with. You couldn’t quite fathom him out. A part of your brain still considered him to be a demon but the sensible majority knew that wasn’t the case. Unpredictable, for sure. Mad, possibly. Dangerous, no question. Interesting, beyond words. 

Whatever truce you held with him was temporary, that much was obvious, and you would not be caught off guard when the time came to break the peace. Until that time came, though, you intended to keep him on side and indulge his whims while your motivations still aligned. 

“For what are we searching upon our arrival in Lady Me’s home?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” The Master said sharply. It wasn’t anger in his voice, rather dismissal. Despite requiring your skills for the heist, he apparently still considered you lesser. An expected stance, considering he knew nothing about you that would suggest otherwise. “How long have you been a thief?”

“I prefer the term bandit. Far more mysterious, wouldn’t you say? Sounds considerably less common than thief.”

The Master hummed, not disputing that. “Fine. How long have you been a bandit?”

“I honestly cannot recall. Many years, now.”

“Why do you do it?”

“The same reason as you, I suspect. For the thrill.”

Theft was the same regardless of how you dressed it, but reputation was all that truly mattered. It wasn’t the gold or the clothes that made this life worthwhile, although the material luxuries certainly made it more comfortable. Infamy and respect were what it came down to in the end. The awe and admiration of others, the appreciation of skill and cunning. 

You could see it in his eyes, the enjoyment that came from sneaking around and breaking the rules. You felt it too. With so much that could go wrong, the law - pathetic as they were - always on your tail, there was no time to dwell on the shadows from which you were truly running. 

“What about yourself, Lord Master?”

“Just Master is fine." 

"How many years have passed since you led a respectable life?”

“I stopped counting after the first millennia.”

Once again, you were struck by how serious he was. However, before you could further question him, Lady Me’s grand manor came into view. All of the windows were dark, not a sign of life within the large house. If you didn’t know better, you might even think it abandoned. 

You led The Master around the back, to the servants’ entrance. Once upon a time, you’d worked in the kitchens, long and arduous hours toiling away for pittance. You couldn’t imagine that things had changed much since your time there - a suspicion quickly confirmed when you knelt down and found the lock rusty as ever. 

The lack of light did not hinder your progress. You pulled free the hairpin beneath your hat and made short work of the old lock. You glanced up at The Master with a grin but were met with a bored expression. “Are you not impressed at all?”

“A child could have picked that.” He pushed open the door and strode in, not waiting for you to follow. Clicking his tongue, he chided, “Quickly now, Your Grace. We don’t have all night.”

“Just Grace is fine,” you said, mimicking his earlier tone.

“Are you coming or not?”

“Lead on. Oh, wait, you don’t know your way around the house.” You pushed past him, taking great satisfaction as he stumbled backwards. Without looking back, you strode through the manor halls, instinctively avoiding the many squeaky floorboards. The Master, once again proving his intelligence, immediately noted the odd placement of your steps and followed them exactly.

The decor hadn’t changed much since you were last there, although a few new paintings hung from the walls and the silver candelabra had been switched out for one made of pure gold instead. 

You headed straight for the main reception room, not surprised to see a thick layer of dust on the furniture. Rumours were that Lady Me had withdrawn from the world of high society, stopped hosting her grand parties and balls and dismissed all but the core staff. She had grown bored of this world, of this life - a feeling you understood well. 

“It’s here.”

“This is a fireplace,” The Master stated, unimpressed. “Not what I came to steal.”

You crouched down once again, tracing your fingers over the cold bricks behind the fireplace. Beautifully carved from imported marble, the best that money could buy. Not a single blemish or dent, they were perfectly smooth - except for one tiny mark, only visible when the moonlight hit at just the right angle. Too soon to celebrate, you stretched your hand out behind you. 

“I desire my blade.”

“For what?”

“Hand it me, please.”

Breathing a deep sigh, making no attempts to hide his annoyance, The Master pulled your dagger from inside his pocket and handed it over. For the briefest moment, you considered plunging the blade into his chest and wiping your hands of this risky endeavour but something in his expression stopped you. He was too willing to die, you realised with a chill. 

You pressed the brick with the mark and the stone beside it popped forward. Blade between your teeth, you twisted the second brick and a cool gust of air hit your face, hissing out from the hidden chamber. Pocketing your blade, you grabbed one of the pillars and heaved open the secret door, sending a pointed glance to The Master who was quite content to stand aside as you did all the hard work. 

One the passageway was revealed, he shook his head, truly disappointed. An odd reaction to say the least, considering that it was one of the best hidden rooms you had ever seen. “Primitive technology. I expected better of her. Why did you need the knife?”

“So that once we have found the treasure you desire, and you inevitably turn on me, that I may have a way to defend myself.”

“Oh, I do like you.”

His smile, more like the vicious grin of a predator about to consume its prey, shone in the moonlight. If not for the imminent concern of being quite literally stabbed in the back by this man, you would have found it quite a wondrous sight indeed. The Master truly was something else but to dive deeper, to learn more, would be a dangerous path. A tempting notion, indeed. 

“After you, Grace.”

“Please, Master. After you." 

The tunnel behind the fireplace was cold, the air biting like a mid winter’s night. It did not stretch long and you soon came to a large metal door, a vault the likes of which you had never encountered. The Master, on the other hand, was far more in his element. "Now this is more like it.”

You stepped back and let him do his work without question, although you watched every move carefully. From inside his jacket, he pulled a thin tube capable of shooting a bright beam of light and heat that melted the metal door. A laser screwdriver, he called it. You’d be wary to stand in front of that. 

Metal scraped against metal as he pulled it open, a blue orb of light on the ceiling illuminating Lady Me’s private treasures. Brighter than the summer sky, the floating sphere projected a harsh glow on the contents of the vault. More gold and jewels than you could have ever dreamed off covered the floor in neat piles but it was the strange flashing devices on the walls which truly caught your attention. 

“What are those?”

“Macliatorian rifles. They can disintegrate a person from one hundred miles away.”

You pointed to another silver weapon, reaching up to touch the shiny surface. “And those?" 

The Master slapped your wrist, a frown on his face. "Don’t touch that. Those are Higryff grenades. They calibrate to whichever creature first imprints with them and then atomise any life form within a mile radius that is not the same biological makeup. Horrible things. No good for regeneration at all.”

“You’re making up words, Sir. Speak plain English.”

“It’s a bomb. It goes bang and we both die. I’m looking for a green gem, about this size. Red veins running through it. Can you see it anywhere?”

“That one?” You gestured towards a stone which matched the description, hidden behind a pile of golden coins and necklaces fit for the Queen herself. 

He nodded. “That’s the one. Grab it and let’s get out of here.”

The thought of facing Lady Me was enough to spur you into action. It had been many years since you’d last crossed paths with her and had no intention of reminiscing tonight, especially not with The Master around. Exciting as his company may be, perhaps because of it, you still weren’t certain that he could be trusted.

“Help me close the door,” you hissed, grasping at The Master’s coat. You immediately released the fabric, feeling his stare burn a hole in your skull even through the darkness, but continued to insist upon his assistance. Had the fireplace been this heavy when you were opening it? “Help me, Master, or Lady Me will know we were here.”

“She’ll know anyway when she sees the mess I made of her vault.” The Master grabbed your hand, a deranged grin on his face, and dragged you along. Heavy footsteps echoing through the large empty manor - you most hoped that it was empty - you gave no care as to which creaking floorboards you stepped on as you ran to freedom. 

Back through the kitchen, out into the courtyard and then across the open greens that surrounded the house, you pounded after The Master. Exhaustion held no grip on him but you felt its effects quickly enough. Your muscles groaned out as you pushed them beyond their natural limit, the sharp bite in your legs causing you to stumble multiple times. 

The Master never let you fall. He caught you every time, tugging on your arm in an unnecessary reminder to keep moving. Swerving through the trees, you followed on blindly, unable to see through the darkness and stars in your eyes. 

“I cannot go on,” you croaked, doubling over in pain. Every inch of your body hurt and you feared there was not enough air in the world to fill your aching lungs.

“Lucky for you, then. We’re right where I need to be.”

“Where are we?”

“My TARDIS.” There he went again, making up words. “Hand over the gem.”

Through rugged breaths, your entire body shaking, you said, “Not until you pay me for services rendered.”

“Didn’t you take anything from Me’s vault?”

In all the excitement, coming face to face with foreign weapons so deadly that they could wipe out all of England in one blast, seeing so much wealth in one place, lost in the wake of The Master’s own enthusiasm, you had forgotten to grab even a handful of the golden coins. Foolish, a mistake you’d no doubt regret for the next few decades, but understandable - in your eyes at least. 

However, you supposed that The Master was not a man keen on righting the mistakes of others. That in mind, you pulled your dagger from its sheath and said, “All I desire is your coat. That is my price. Hand it over then I shall give you the gem and be on my merry way.”

The moonlight did little to illuminate his face but you could feel his stare on your skin like a million tiny sparks. He searched your expression for a reason not to trust you but found none - after all, you had done nothing but hold true to your word. He had no reason to suspect that that would change now. 

Making a deal with the devil, though, was a dangerous business. Your hand tightened around the handle of your blade, preparing yourself for a deception of some kind. You’d caught the fire in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking. You knew that he’d imagined killing you a hundred times over already this evening. Now would be the perfect time to act on that desire, if he so wished. 

You held your breath in anticipation, muscles tight. The Master would find that you would not die so easily. You would fight him if you must and you would win, like you always did. However, as fate would have it, your fears were unfounded - tonight, at least. 

Much to your surprise, The Master nodded. He slipped the coat from his shoulders - subtly reaching inside his pocket to remove the square, flashing contraption from earlier - and handed it over. The warning clear in his voice, he said, “The gem, Grace.”

You tossed it over with a sharp nod. “Consider our business concluded, Master.”

“The pleasure was all yours." 

The Master turned away and walked… Straight into a tree. You rubbed your eyes, for the little good it would do in the night’s shadows, but still saw a gentle glow emanating from the thin tree. That strange groaning filled the air, deep and wheezing, familiar now, and then where once had stood a tree, if only for a few hours, there was empty space once more.


	3. Chapter 3

You caught Mademoiselle Josèphe’s hand and circled left as the music swelled. This was a dance you had performed hundreds of times over the years. As such, you didn’t even have to think anymore. Your feet led you where you needed to be, giving your mind the freedom to consider far more important things. 

“You’ve seen him too, haven’t you?”

Mademoiselle Josèphe’s wide smile told you all you needed to know. However, before you could properly gossip about the handsome stranger in the corner of the ballroom, the Marquis de Poitou pulled you away and spun you around. He met your gaze and went to speak but, by the time he collected his courage to address you, you were already moving on to your next partner within the cotillion. 

Round the square you twirled until the ladies descended back into the centre. Madame Catherine, having already consumed much wine, danced the most jovially, her tall wig bobbing precariously on her head as you wove between each other. She caught your hand as you passed and drew you closer, shouting loud enough to be easily heard above the music (perhaps even so much so from the other side of the ballroom.

“Dear Louis believes him a dignitary from the Mughal Empire,” she proclaimed, a knowing superiority on her face. With the thick layers of white powder on her cheeks and tight stretch of her skin across the bones, it was difficult to tell the difference between a smile and a grimace but paired with the lustful way she licked her rouge lips you suspected her current snarl was meant to be the former. 

“Does anyone know of his title?” Mademoiselle Gilberte asked, twisting her body in a highly uncomfortable angle to steal another glance at the man. However, by that time, he had already moved on. 

"What of his name?“ Mademoiselle Josèphe inquired, searching the crowd for the unfamiliar face. 

Sadly none of you four ladies knew anything more of him and further questions had to wait as you returned to your original partners. The young Monsieur Achard twirled you gracefully into his arms and led you away from the tight formation, effortlessly switching styles as the music changed around you. 

You yelped as he stepped on your toes, more from surprise than pain. He usually led you so beautifully that the clumsy misstep was quite the shock. Naturally, Monsieur Archard apologised immediately and you waved away his concerns with a light smile. You had suffered far worse. 

"I see your gaze lingers on the handsome diplomat also, Comte. What do you know of him?”

“I have not had the pleasure of his acquaintance,” the count said, leading you around the floor with a renewed vigour. Around you, the ladies and gentlemen of the court lost themselves in the intimate dance but neither you nor Monsieur Archard had romance on your mind tonight - at least not with one another. A life so long as yours didn’t lend itself well to romantic entanglements and he had his eye firmly on a young serving man who was currently plying the gentry with alcohol. 

It was a well considered agreement between you. You had been companions for years now, accompanied each other to all of these dreadful but necessary events and maintained an air of respectability. That wasn’t to say that you didn’t enjoy his company, merely that the supposed magic of the ballroom was lost somewhat on you. Where other ladies of the court swooned in the arms of their suitors, you shared no such reaction. 

“He seems most interested with you, though.”

You followed his gaze and met the stranger’s dark eyes, sparks crackling across your skin. A tight knot formed in the pit of your stomach, the highly uncomfortable kind. There was a hypnotic quality to the man, dressed in the finest silk jacket and breeches, a powerful air that drew you into the shadows around him. 

Breaking the connection - a blessing, no doubt, as you wondered whether you would have possessed the strength to turn away yourself - Monsieur Archard swept you around the hall and said teasingly, “I do wonder, have you lain with his sister? I cannot think of any other reason why he might stare at you so darkly!" 

"I am certain I would remember such a night!” you responded. Devoid of any self control, you were already searching the tightly packed ballroom for any sign of the diplomat but had lost him to the mass of delicately painted faces around you. “Perhaps he is simply jealous that you dance with me and not him.”

“An intriguing consideration indeed, Mademoiselle.”

“I should appreciate it if you introduced us, Comte.”

Monsieur Archard faltered in his steps once more and you narrowed your eyes at the poor man. For his many strengths, when it came to actually acting like the strong, collected noble he pretended to be, the count had the social skills of a child hiding behind his mother’s skirts. So rattled that he tripped over the edge of your skirts, he muttered, “Perhaps after a few more dances…”

Court decorum be damned, you pushed him away and stood with your hands on your hips, a burst of power flaring in your soul as he genuinely trembled. “Now listen here, Luc. A day will come when you have to step out from your brother’s shadow and take charge of your household. You will have to speak to those you do not know and learn to navigate this forsake court without me by your side. The point of these dreadful things is to mingle so would you please indulge me.”

The shy man sighed and you knew that you had won. Just as he took your gloved hand, you felt a tap on the shoulder and a new man asked, “May I cut in?”

“Pardon, Monsieur but I -” You turned and came face to face with the very man with whom you had been hoping to speak. Not missing the count’s deep set relief as he excused himself, you smiled at the unfamiliar diplomat and closed the gap as best you could, what with three feet of exceptionally impractical skirt between you. “Of course.”

You stepped in time to the music and realised less than four bars in that your new partner had absolutely no idea how to navigate these dances. He lacked even the basic knowledge to lead without bumping into you at every turn and the lords and dukes around you were already starting to cast judgement over his clumsiness. 

“Why don’t we converse elsewhere,” you suggested, already weaving your way through the crowds and out the ballroom. Chancing that you knew the palace better than he did, you led your companion through to the nearest gardens. It was beautiful in the evening, the moonlight reflected in the lake and the air far more peaceful than inside. A perfect place for a quiet conversation. 

Arranging your skirt carefully as you sat on a marble bench, the strange diplomat chose to perch against a nearby column instead of sitting beside you. Interesting. You wondered whether you specifically made him nervous or if this agitation was his natural state. 

“I shall be blunt, monsieur,” you said, realising after a long moment of silence that he would not easily yield you any information otherwise. “Do we know one another?”

“You forgot me already? I’m wounded, Grace.”

You found that very difficult to believe. However, no matter how you searched your memories, you could draw no recollection of his face from within the past decades and, with a face so young, the possibility that he knew you from further back was preposterous. Still, something about him made you wonder. “Refresh my memory.”

He considered your request, a lazy smile playing over his lips - although you found no amusement in the situation. “The last time we met, you were holding up Englishmen and demanding their money or their lives.”

That was a lifetime ago, so long passed that you had almost forgotten. It was more like a story that you told yourself, a series of events which happened to another poor soul. Every day had been a struggle to find a place to call home, when you believed that that was still possible. A life of desperate necessity, scrambling around the countryside, clawing after the rich for scraps. Suffering disease and injury but having an absolutely wild time. The hazy images brought a smile to your face. 

Oh, life had been an adventure back then. Times moved on, though, and you’d grown restless. Jumping on a boat, you’d crossed the waters and found yourself here, falling into the lap of luxury and wealth, able to rely on a pretty face and quick wits as you adapted to existence at the French court. Now you charmed your way through this new world, still clawing after the rich but this time flourishing by their side. 

It was secure in a way your previous life had never been but you missed the thrill at times, especially now that the memories were little more than whispers on the wind. 

This was a gift, crossing paths with a man from your past. Hoping that he could fill in some of the blanks, you leaned forward and allowed the low cut of your dress to dazzle him. Curiously - or perhaps not, you supposed, given how a long life took the joy from such things - the display did little to rile him. 

“I’m afraid that I require greater detail than that, monsieur. My recollections of that time are… incomplete.”

He hummed, although whether in agreement, amusement or irritation you couldn’t tell. Arms folded across his chest, the dark silk of his jacket reflecting the light of a nearby torch, he said, “We had quite an evening together.”

“Oh, monsieur, you cannot expect me to detail the face of every person with whom I have ever lain.”

“Not that kind of… Humans! We broke into Lady Me’s private vault. Does that ring any bells?”

“You turn a strange phrase.” Regardless of his meaningless words, you had to admit that there was a grain of familiarity in his story. The exact details were lost to history but you had a distinct feeling that a tree had been of some importance. “Forgive my rudeness, though, in that I cannot recall your name.”

“Barely a hundred years and you forget the most interesting person you’ll ever meet. I really am offended, Grace.” Met with your blank glare, the man scoffed and introduced himself as The Master. That did sound familiar, mostly because you’d never crossed paths with anyone so self important as him. 

Still, despite your best efforts, you were unable to conjure any further details about The Master. In the future, you would keep a diary. Who knew how many immortals you had crossed paths with and offended by forgetting their name after a few decades. The last thing you wanted to do was antagonise the people with whom you were going to share this planet for the foreseeable, and unforseeable, future. 

Tapping your foot to the gentle melody that drifted out from the palace, you asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your attention, Master?”

“Oh, I’m not here for you.”

“Then why -”

Your question was interrupted by a high pitch scream nearby. A devilish grin spread across The Master’s face as he pushed himself away from the marble column, a chaotic madness in his eyes. “That’s why.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Master strode through the gardens with his head held high, the cautious air he wore around you replaced by something far scarier. A power surrounded him, confidence and strength that you wouldn’t have expected upon initial glance but was clear to see beneath the carefully composed surface. 

Whether keen to escape your presence or simply unaware that you were following him, he turned suddenly down a dark, unlit path away from the palace. You hurried after him, the click of your heels against the stone path echoing out into the night. If you lost sight of him now then you knew without truly understanding how that the chances of finding him again were slim to none. 

“Surely we should be heading towards the screaming?” you asked.

He scoffed. “Why would we do that?”

“To help them?”

You crashed straight into his chest and scrambled back. The Master’s dark glare shone through the evening shadows. He stepped towards you, the entire weight of his presence crushing you as he drew on the invisible strength of gods and demons. “I couldn’t care less what happens to the humans and if you intend to stick around then you’d best forget about the others too. You’ll be far less interesting if it turns out you actually have a conscience.”

“Right. Well, lead the way, then." 

It wasn’t that you’d given up caring. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The last thing that you wanted to see was the people you’d grown close to suffering. It was unsurprising that The Master, who clearly shared your curse of immortality, had chosen to shut that part of his humanity off. You couldn’t judge; there were times when you did the very same. The preservation of the self was the deepest instinct of them all and, when the universe went to great lengths to keep your body alive, it was up to you to hold your soul together - even if in walking away you lost a piece of it. Better to lose a part than the whole. 

Curiosity also played a part in following him deeper into the dark. The Master clearly had his own plan and you were terribly interested to find out what sort of game he was playing here. The chances that he would come to the exact same manor house as you on this very particular night were slim and you couldn’t shake the feeling that your crossing paths was more than the ‘happy accident’ he claimed. 

Plus, if you were being honest, life at the French court was getting dull. You found yourself wanting to relive the glorious misadventures of the century passed and The Master was a direct link to that. Who better to run straight into the unknown with than a friend - at least that was how you hoped your relationship could be described; two souls trapped in the same eternal hell was bound to make companions of you. It was that or fearsome enemies and there was something… peculiar and unnameable about The Master which made you certain that enemies was not a label you wished to share. 

"A moment,” you pleaded, steadying yourself against a tree. You kicked your high heels off and tucked them safely behind a plant pot then pulled your trusted knife from inside one of the numerous folds in your skirt. You reached around at an awkward angle to slice the ties which held your bodice in place and freed yourself from its tight constraints. 

The many layers of skirt were added to the pile of clothes, followed by your stays and the fat hip pads which gave you such a defined shape. Finally your wig fell onto the pile, a literal weight off your mind. After all that was removed, what remained was your undershirt alone. Stripped to your barest, you felt free from the confines of the French court and already more like yourself. Ready for an adventure, and far more practically dressed for any running or fighting which may ensue. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account.”

You narrowed your gaze at The Master, unable to see his sarcastic snarl but more than able to feel its bite, and stretched out your hand expectantly. He may have been joking but you were aware of the spectacle that a woman in her underwear would cause. “I desire your jacket.”

“Stealing one wasn’t enough?” he grumbled, already slipping it off his shoulders. 

The material was beautifully soft against your skin, crafted by the absolute best. You nodded in thanks then gestured down the path. “After you.”

“After you,” he insisted, gaze lingering on the blade in your hand. 

You huffed, unimpressed by his lack of faith in you, but began to walk nonetheless. With nowhere now to stow your weapon, you kept a tight hold of the dagger’s handle. “Need I be concerned that you are leading me to the most remote parts of the grounds?”

“There is such a thing as trust, Grace.”

“And yet I doubt you know it well. How have you spent these past decades, Master? Since we last met?”

“Barely been a month for me,” he said. “I was hopping around the Castraxia Belt, just causing a little trouble here and there, destabilising governments and inciting rebellion, when the TARDIS brought me here.”

So many strange words. Your knowledge of the Eastern world was limited but you supposed that Castraxia must be a region within the Mughal Empire, where Madame Catharine claimed he hailed from. Of course, that could simply be a lie but The Master must have connections there at least to source such beautiful silk for his clothes. 

“The _Tardis_ is a ship?”

He nodded. “She’s a little damaged and not all her systems work properly at the moment but she set me down not far from here. Picked up chatter of a Sontaran troop nearby and now that their pods are empty I’ll help myself to a few of their energy crystals and then be on my way.”

Still so many foreign words. You were struggling to keep up with his insane tale. Guessing as much, The Master explained as if to a child, “My ship is broken and theirs has what I need to fix it.”

“Your Sontarans… You said a troop. As in an army?” He nodded. “Where are they now?”

“Enjoying the party, no doubt." 

You turned suddenly to the palace, horrified to see flames bursting from the windows on the lower floor. Already starting to race towards the house, The Master caught your arm. His grip was impossibly tight, like metal shackles bruising your skin as he held you back. "Let them die.”

"They are good people.“

"No, they aren’t. They are selfish and profit off the labour of others.”

"We can’t just stand here and leave them to be slaughtered.“

Faced with such a horrible possibility, The Master actually laughed. You realised then that you had been right; immortality had not been kind to him at all. "You think that you could stop a squad of highly trained soldiers with a little knife? Entertaining as that sounds, you’d be wise to just let this one go.”

“And what is to stop them from conquering the rest of France?”

The Master held your gaze for a long moment as you wordlessly implored him to provide a solution. He clearly understood these people better than you, knew what they were capable of and potentially - you hoped - knew how to stop them. With a deep sigh, he threw his hands in the air and said, “Fine. Just this once. I don’t want to start making a habit of this." 

Not allowing you time to question him, The Master strode off down the path, twisting and turning through the enormous palace grounds until he reached a group of three large, metal spheres. He knocked playfully on what you assumed must be a door and when he received no answer pulled the door aside. 

You circled the giant metal spheres, both intrigued and concerned by their existence. "What are they?”

"Sontaran ships,“ The Master replied. 

Reaching the front once again, you stood back in awe at the mass of flickering lights inside the sphere. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before. Such small, colourful flames were impossible yet beautiful beyond compare. If they weren’t tangible, right here before your eyes, you would easily have dismissed this as a peculiar piece of art or as a humourless jest.

The metal shell was cool against your palm and you jumped back, uneasy with the soft vibrations beneath the surface. "You said they were an army. Three soldiers does not -”

“Three Sontarans does. Now will you stop talking so I can finish this?”

“Can I help?”

“Do you know how to remove a multidimensional, temporal scanner?” He popped his head out of the sphere, hands working with a mind of their own as he fiddled with the bright lights. A sanctimonious smirk on his face, The Master continued, “Or maybe you could inverse the polarity of a Zephram Loop to set the ships to self destruct the moment it detects Sontaran DNA? No? Didn’t think so. Kindly shut up then.”

You turned away from The Master and folded your arms across your chest. In the distance, large pillars of smoke rose in the night and blocked the gentle twinkling of stars above. Your nerves were shot with worry for the people inside, the friends you had made here. The wind had picked up and howled through the trees, amplifying the distant screams of fear and pain from inside the palace. 

“Your emotions make you weak,” The Master said, twisting himself into an unnatural angle to work beneath a shelf within the sphere. “You should see this as a blessing. A clear cut from the people holding you back.”

Ignoring his comment, you asked, “Where will you go, after this? When your ship is repaired? Will you return to your home?”

“I have no home.”

“I feel the same way, at times.”

Almost imperceptibly, The Master’s hands stilled before quickly returning the task at hand. He twisted the colourful strands of… not rope but something similar and held out his hand expectantly. When you didn’t act, he said gruffly, “Knife. Now." 

You reluctantly complied and watched as he cut through a blue string. He repeated the process with the yellow strand and tied the two together, then swung his legs out of the sphere and slammed the door shut. In his hand he held a shining crystal, stunning but flawed. Dark veins ran through the centre and the edges were jagged however, in your opinion, the imperfections added to the beauty. 

The Master rocked on his heels, eyeing you from head to toe before flipping the dagger in the air. He caught it by the blade and handed it back to you without thanks. "The Sontarans will receive a distress call from their ships. When they return the detonation will kill them and Earth will be safe. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you…” you said although not entirely understanding why. “I should return to the palace. I’m certain that Comte Archard will be searching for me. If he survived.”

Your words caught in your throat as you considered the count. You didn’t know what you would do if you learned that he was lost to the foreign invaders. He was your closest companion here. To lose him would be to lose a piece of yourself. 

A heavy hand clasped your shoulder, The Master’s uncomfortable attempt at reassurance. He pulled away almost instantly, deciding - for the best - that false kind words would not improve your mood. 

Instead, he looked you dead in the eye and said with complete sincerity, “Get out of France, Grace. It’s going to be a rough few years and you don’t want to be caught with the nobles.”

“Why?”

“Revolution. Burning down the town. Hunting the rich. Off with their heads. The whole shabang. And you really don’t want to find out how it feels to be beheaded.”

You nodded, trusting him against all reason. There was something in his demeanour that made you picture the angels with their otherworldly knowledge and ability to see what was yet to come. The genuine dread in his voice as he rubbed his throat, imagining - or, impossibly, recalling - how awful a fate losing one’s head might be.

“A final question, if I may.” He nodded. “You said you came for these… Supplies with which to fix your ship. But you knew I was here. You sought me in a crowd of hundreds. The chances of these strange spheres arriving at this place, the exact evening when I have travelled miles to visit… Tis more than coincidence, surely?”

“Perhaps.”

“But you were not pleased to see me.”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Why?”

He turned on his heels and began walking off into the darkness, only to stop a few steps later to look back over his shoulder and answer, “Your very existence bothers me, Grace.”

At first glance, you should have taken offence at his words. However, you found yourself clinging to another possible meaning. Not that your existence, your presence, irritated him. Not that he found you insufferable (although that might still be true). Rather, that your extended life caused him concern somehow. It was a feeling that you understood that all too well, still uncertain as to your purpose on this planet. 

Tugging on the lapels of his jacket, you pointed out, “And yet you offer me advice and warn me of impending danger. You might have just saved my life.”

“We all make mistakes,” he said cheerily, disappearing into the night without another word. 

You searched the shadows for any sign of him and, when you finally had no choice but to accept that you were alone once again, you turned back towards the palace. Ignoring the ache in your chest at losing one of the few people on the planet capable of truly understanding your suffering, you pushed aside the pain and went to aid with the rescue.


	5. Chapter 5

The tea cup shattered as it hit the ground but you paid it little notice, unable to believe your ears. In your chest your heart rate soared, practically pounding against your ribcage. That sound… A memory from long ago - good or bad, you couldn’t recall - the details lost to the fogs of time. You had tried to convince yourself that it was a dream but now… This was real. 

Shock quickly gave way to excitement. Your half prepared meal forgotten, you grabbed your tattered coat from the chair and raced out the doorway. It called to you on the wind, the mechanical groan, deep and melodic, a familiar song unchanged by the centuries. It softened into silence but you still felt the draw, guiding you through the city. 

Following your gut, you soon found yourself in a dark alley. Completely empty. A dead end. The hairs on the back of your neck tingled, the air pressed uncomfortably against your chest. You had that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach that there was someone watching you. Waiting to pounce. 

A movement in the shadows caught your eye, too dark to truly identify but confirming your suspicions. You held your breath and focused in on the soft pattern of exhalations nearby, senses heightened by the adrenaline now flooding your veins. Your hand slipped into your jacket, tightening around the handle of your ancient blade. 

The shapes in the dark grew clearer as your eyes adjusted and you waited, completely still, until… You spun around and grabbed the interloper by the throat, expertly cutting off their air supply. You smashed them against the nearest wall and instinctively thrust your dagger into their abdomen. 

While you had killed too many people to count on your fingers, you remembered them all - although, as the years passed, their faces faded; the guilt was not so kind - and never had anyone reacted to being stabbed in quite the way this particular night crawler did. There was normally a lot more screaming and crying, an awful lot less annoyance.

The man - definitely a man - shoved your shoulder with enough force to push you away. He tentatively touched the blade sticking out of his gut, hissed, then looked up to you, annoyance growing further. “You again?”

His face, despite being almost entirely covered in shadows, was vaguely familiar. Like the song caught on the wind, you could place him in a distant dream. In the shadows, his eyes narrowed like a panther - a demon, whispered the cautionary voice in your mind. That was the thought that placed him. 

Paris, 1780. 

“It’s you! Oh, monsieur, mercy! I didn’t know…”

He pushed off the wall and slowly removed the dagger from his side. Tightening his fingers around the handle, he grumbled grumpily, “You’ve ruined my waistcoat. Do you know how difficult it is to wash blood out of this?”

“Are you… Are you alright?”

“No, some idiot just stabbed me.” Met with your sincerest apologies, he rolled his eyes and cut you off. “I’ve survived worse. Why are you here?”

“I heard the song on the wind. It called to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The hum of the Earth. The groaning of the world, rhythmic and sorrowful. It sings to my dreams. When I heard it this eve, I could not let it pass without learning its source. I followed the sound and it brought me here, to you.”

He considered your words and softened his hold on the blade, apparently judging you not to be a threat. You noted with interest, though, that he still stood ready to fight at a moment’s notice. What uneasy friendships he must suffer, you thought, to constantly be on his guard even around those he knew. 

For he definitely knew you. That much was clear in his gaze. Where your memories had faded, your face was apparently fresh in his mind. He scanned your body, eyebrow rising as he took in your clothes. “You still have my coat.”

That was news. Honestly, you couldn’t recall where you’d acquired the coat. If he hadn’t have mentioned it, hadn’t been wearing an exact match, then you would never have known that he was the source of one of your oldest possessions. It had lasted the past hundred odd years well. The elbows were faded and you’d resewn the seams multiple times but aside from that it was still in one piece. 

Most exceptional were the inside pockets. You’d never understood how but they were capable of marvellous things. In times of crisis, you could fit most of your possessions inside the seemingly endless pockets, perfect for a speedy getaway. On multiple occasions, you had dug around inside the lining and found tremendous devices that you never seen before but would definitely have recalled owning. 

“What year is it?” he asked, tearing you from your ruminations. About to inform him that it was indeed the same year as yesterday, he held up a finger and said, “No, wait. Don’t tell me. I can work it out. Early nineteenth century.”

“The exact year is one thousand, eight hundred and six, monsieur. How far from civilisation must you have been to lose track of the date so?" 

"A long way from this pathetic little world.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, wincing slightly as the movement aggravated his wound, he said, “Well, fun as this has been, I’ve got places to be.”

You caught his arm, pulled lightly on the sleeve of his jacket. “Wait. Join me for dinner.”

“Why?”

“To thank you for saving me." 

The man huffed. "Doesn’t sound like me. It’s usually The Doctor that saves people, not me.”

“It was no medical emergency, I assure you. No, you warned me to leave France when last we met. You knew that a revolution was coming and that it would not be safe to remain. Your warning saved me from losing my head at the guillotine." 

Only once the words left your mouth did you realise that they were true. Interesting how quickly things you thought you’d forgotten came back, the details of that night flooding your mind. You released your hold on his jacket but continued to implore him. "Please, Master. It is not as if we do not have the time to spare. I can promise you some quite excellent wine.”

Against his better judgement, he nodded and gestured towards the main road - groaning loudly to ensure you didn’t forget that you’d stabbed him, as if that were possible. “Lead on, Grace.”

“That isn’t my name, you know." 

"I’m not a fool. I know that but it is the only one you ever gave me. I can call you human if you’d prefer.”

You told him that Grace was fine.


	6. Chapter 6

"What a quaint little place this is." The Master stepped over the shattered remains of your mug, careful to avoid the now cold puddle of tea on the ground, and stretched out across the larger of your chairs. A strange position, he hung his legs over one arm and let his arm hang from the other. Uncomfortable, you'd have thought, but he seemed quite content. "Can't you afford anything better?"

"It's no Versailles, I grant you. However, you warned me yourself. War is approaching from every direction and I would much rather stay away from the fighting. If it means that I must live a simple life for a few decades and wait it out then so be it."

That said, your options were somewhat limited than you let on. Most of the money you'd acquired over the years had either been frittered away chasing short term pleasures or lost as you moved from one life to another. After all, it wasn't easy to claim back on investments made under old names - and when you looked as young as you did, declaring yourself as an eighty year elder was not such a good plan. 

You didn't mind this way of living, though. Your neighbours were kind, good and decent people that worked hard for their families. For such short lives, they had marvellous stories to tell. Laughter far outweighed the tears here, although there were a fair share of devastating losses. You used what money you could spare to buy medicines for the sick and suffering but it only stretched so far. 

As you lit the candles, you were able to properly see The Master for the first time that evening - he had been shrouded in darkness, careful to avoid moonlight, on the walk back to your home. He was handsome, no doubt the exact same thought you'd had on your previous meetings. The dim glow of the candles softened what could otherwise have been harsh features, soothed a little of the anger in his eyes. 

His suit, strangely cut as it was, especially his trousers which appeared to be a good few inches too short, hung well on his frame. The bright purple of his coat contrasted with the dull faded shade yours had taken on over the centuries but matched nonetheless. The Master was immaculately dressed, save for the growing dark patch of blood on his side. 

Cursing yourself for not acting sooner, you knelt down in front of the chair and said, "Remove your shirt. You must clean the wound."

The Master, ignoring your suggestion entirely, stroked your hair gently. "I like you here. On your knees for your Master. Such concern."

You shoved his hand away, insulted by what he was suggesting. Had he been this insufferable the other times you'd crossed paths? Leaning back on your heels, eyes narrowed in a glare which earned you nothing more than a soft smirk, you warned, "Continue with that attitude and we'll see just how much you enjoy a bout of nineteenth century disease."

"This world's germs won't kill me."

"No, they do not kill me either but I cannot recommend the experience either way."

In a sudden, swift movement, The Master swung his legs around. Elbows on his knees, he leaned down and met your gaze with an unshaking intensity. Whatever he saw when he looked at you left him deeply unsettled, a mutual feeling. It was there, behind his eyes, no matter how he tried to hide it. Your existence bothered him. 

Voice low, almost paranoid, he asked, "How many times have you died?" 

"I believe the definition of an immortal is that one never dies."

"We both know it is never that simple. Go on. Indulge me."

"To what end?"

He shrugged. "My own morbid curiosity."

"Allow me to cleanse your wound and I shall speak." 

You stoked the fire, tossed on another log to keep it burning throughout the night, and replaced your kettle on the hook to heat. As it boiled, you prepared a few bandages and then returned to your earlier spot at the foot of the chair. By that point, The Master had, reluctantly, removed his jacket and waistcoat. He pulled his shirt from his trousers, exposing the wound. 

It was not as bad as you had initially imagined. You dampened a cloth in the freshly boiled water and dabbed at the dried blood, cleaning away the worst of the blood to reveal the stab wound beneath. While you worked, employing light, delicate touches to the tender area, you said, "My memory does not allow me to recall much of my life. Day to day existence fades within a decade and I can only accurately speak of major events within the past century. Beyond that, I find myself making mistakes in my recollections of what has occurred."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"True but it is a necessary preface. Within the past few centuries, I can recall seven times whence I have brushed with death. Disease took me twice. Hunger another. The other four were by the hands of people I considered friends. Each time, I looked death in the eyes and she shoved me back to this world where I had no choice but to claw my way back to health."

He nodded, clearly understanding that particular pain. It was almost comforting to know he shared a similar experience of immortality as you. The candlelight flickered and his expression softened further, The Master momentarily lapsing into sadness as he recalled, perhaps, one such incident. 

You sat silently, consciously fighting your mind as those dark memories stirred. Very rarely did they surface and you were determined that this evening would not be one of those times. Needing a distraction, you asked the first question that came into your mind. "How rapidly do you heal?"

The unexpected query threw him off guard. The walls which you'd felt soften rose sharply as The Master regarded you wish suspicion once more. "What? Why is that important?"

You sat back down on your heels, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. "It matters for whether I need to stitch your wound or not. If it is to heal by morn then there is no need. However, if your body requires longer to restring itself, and you intend to walk around while it heals, then stitches may be necessary."

"I'll be fine. Just bandage the bloody thing up. I'm keeping your dagger, by the way."

"This one, you mean?" You reached behind you and pulled the knife in question from the belt of your skirt. It had been so easy, pickpocketing him, especially once he'd taken off his coat. What did he expect you to do with it just lying there on the ground? 

In all your memories, you couldn't recall ever feeling quite so satisfied as now. The Master glowered down at you, a twisted mixture of annoyance and amusement in his gaze. If nothing else, you'd earned his respect with that little trick. "Perhaps your luck shall improve next time." 

"What makes you believe there will be a next time?"

"We're bound to meet again. After all, this is our third meeting in as many centuries. With the entire planet as our orchard, that seems more than chance encounters."

"Yeah, still working out why that keeps happening."

"Take it as a blessing," you suggested, rising up back on to your knees. You carefully wrapped the bandages around his torso, aware of every single rise and fall of his chest. He flinched away from each accidental brush of your fingers against his skin so you made quick work of the dressing and pulled away without mentioning it. "For your sins, you make fair company, Master."

Wordlessly, he tugged his shirt back down into place and made to grab his other garments. More limited by the wound than he let on, you handed The Master his things instead of watching him struggle with the stretch. The lack of thanks was expected. 

A thick silence fell over you, neither of you certain how to proceed. The fire crackled quietly in the corner, the unpredictable nature of the sound keeping you both on edge. It was The Master who finally spoke: "You promised me wine. Excellent wine, at that."

"Right. Yes. It's around here somewhere."

There weren't many storage spaces in your small abode and you quickly found the promised wine. It was the last of a case you'd acquired before you left France, a truly spectacular wine that had only improved with age. You couldn't say exactly what it was, only that half a bottle was enough to dull any kind of pain. 

"Savour it because there isn't any more where it came from."

The Master raised an eyebrow to that, apparently thinking otherwise. He pulled the bottle from your hand and took a long drink before handing it back. Far from the etiquette of the French court, it was almost laughable. After a few healthy swigs of your own, it wasn't long before you had indeed descended into hysterics. The alcohol wasn't that strong but it was nice to pretend that it was. 

Stretched out on the floor, a thin tattered blanket laid across your chest, you stared up at The Master and asked, "How many of us are there?"

"You and I are not the same."

"And yet we drink the same wine and share the same air."

He could not argue with that sort of questionable logic. With a sigh, The Master said, "There is, of course, the Lady Me and the witless oaf of the handsome captain."

"Handsome, is he? Sounds like someone I might like to become acquainted with."

"He's a right pain in the ass. Such fun to kill. Not permanently, obviously. Makes my skin tingle being near you, but him especially. Humans shouldn't live that long." Shaking himself from that particular track - one you couldn't follow - he took another long sip of wine and finally answered your original question. "Aside from you three, I wouldn't know. I've never bothered sticking around Earth long enough to find out if there are more."

"There is no way to travel beyond Earth, Master," you said, as if to a child.

"Not for _you,_ Grace," he responded in an equally ridiculous tone. Then his expression became slightly more thoughtful, a serious thought passing by his eyes before being dismissed. "At least not for another few hundred years. I'm sure you'll be on the first starship off this dump and out into the universe to explore the stars."

"I can step outside and see the stars perfectly fine. The way in which you speak, it is as these things have already happened. That these _star-ships a_ nd other planets and species _not human_ are actually more than a product of your overactive imagination."

The Master sprung from the chair and crouched beside you, the speed with which he moved almost frightening. By some miracle, he managed to avoid reopening his wound - although for all you knew it could already have vanished. Looking back, he had very carefully avoided answering that particular query. 

He tapped your temple a few times, a bright grin on his face. "You're a smart one, Grace. Have to be not to lose your sanity on this _ridiculously_ slow path. One day you'll see. You already have and you never even realised."

You pushed yourself upright, meeting his gaze in the dim light. The flames danced in his dark eyes, their chaotic nature matching his own. "See what?"

"That I'm right. Aliens are _everywhere._ "

So, he was mad then. Still, you couldn’t seem to tear your attention from him. It was like a form of magnetism, intrinsic to your existence and completely infallible. Swallowing deeply, suddenly aware of how close he was, you asked, "If I may be permitted, I have a request."

Following your example, The Master put on an air of intoxication to ease the awkwardness of the situation. He waved his hand in the air, the dismissive action at odds with the utter intrigue that lit his face, and said, "Have at it."

"I would like your permission to draw you."

"Why? Need a handsome face to keep you company in the night?"

Against reason, The Master's grin widened when you reacted with a sharp thump to his leg. From a small box beside the fireplace, you pulled a leather bound notebook. It was of the utmost quality, handmade by the best bookbinder in the city. Cost you a small fortune but worth it for what you needed.

His curiosity piqued, it was all you could do to keep the contents of the pages away from The Master's prying eyes. Settling on a blank page, you grabbed a quill and ink pot from the table and sat back on the floor, a few feet from your guest. 

The inked tip etched quietly against the thick paper as you started your sketch, glancing up occasionally to check the accuracy. You asked The Master to sit still, which he had been doing until you mentioned it. After that, he made a conscious effort to fidget as much as possible to make drawing that little bit more difficult. 

"What's the point of this?"

"To aid my memory. Consider: if I can recall your face then I may refrain from stabbing you when next we meet. Unless, of course, you deserve it. Then I shall not hesitate."

"I'd expect nothing less."

It took around half an hour for you to finish your drawing. You compared the likeness to The Master and decided that all that time spent learning the finer arts at the French court hadn't been wasted. While it wasn't perfect, you'd be able to recognise him from it and that was what mattered.

At the top of the page, you scribbled today's date and the words: _accidentally stabbed him, pleasantries maintained over wine._ There was enough space around the portrait to fill in such accounts for the foreseeable future so you would at least know where you stood with him.

For the entire time you worked, The Master watched you intently (when he wasn't fidgeting like a child). Once you were finished, he plucked the book from your hands and stared at the drawing. Actually taking heed of your warnings not to smudge the drying ink, he held the book carefully in his hands as he read, offended, "Questionable dress sense? Potential madness? You wound me."

"You dress unlike any other I have ever met. You speak in strange tongues and of impossible things. What else am I to possibly believe?"

"There's stuff out there that your limited mind cannot possibly comprehend. Once you accept that, you'll see that I'm one of the few sane ones." He handed back the book and you almost commended his resolve for not having flicked through the other pages. 

The Master drained the final drops from the bottle and jumped to his feet, giving the most dramatic bow you had ever seen. "Your Grace. It's been far from a pleasure. Save me a bottle from eighteen-seventy-three for next time around. Now that was a good year. And avoid America for the next few hundred years."

Was? That was over six decades away yet he spoke as if it had long since passed. As you walked him to the door, watched him cross the threshold and swaggered off into the night without so much as a backwards glance or a goodbye, you wondered if you'd ever understand him.


	7. Chapter 7

A sharp thud sounded against your front door, three strong raptures of the knocker against the metal plate. The Great Bell chimed across the river, sounding perfectly in time with your guest’s knocking. Eleven o’clock on the dot, precisely on time just as she always was.

The floorboards creaked as you strode barefoot to the front door, a smile on your face as you opened your home to the familiar face. “Madame Vastra, a pleasure to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I regret that this is not a social call.”

That was a shame but hardly a surprise. London was a hub of activity unlike any place you had visited before and there was always something more important happening. Perhaps one day you would get the Great Detective to sit and share with you her stories of the stars – years you had known Vastra now and, although she frequently promised to do so, she had yet to actually share with you anything of real interest concerning the wider universe. Still, it wasn’t as if either of you was short of time.

Perched a few steps up, you began to lace up your boots with practised dexterity and speed. Over the years, you had learned the hard way that, while the dressmakers in London were beyond any others in the country, the terrain of the streets was not so suited to exploration in a beautiful gown. On a good day, you needed only fear the thick gloopy mud underfoot. The rest of the time, it required incredible elegance to navigate London’s streets in heels, especially particular parts of the city where horse manure and fish guts lined the path. There was nothing more disgusting than returning home and having to wash the muck from the lining of your thick skirts.

Instead, you dressed far more practically for the area. Naturally, you received a far few strange looks but London was a queer place and the rich were allowed to parade themselves however they desired. In your case, that was in trousers, shirt and waistcoat. Not to forget your signature purple coat, your most prized possession. You were in no doubt that it was that piece that convinced others of your status. Something so outrageous in design could only be owned by a rich socialite.

Glancing up at Madame Vastra, honoured that she always chose to lift her veil around you, you asked, “What strange things are afoot today? I have read this morning’s papers; nothing appears out of the ordinary.”

“Jenny, Strax and I are investigating a strange case in Grenwich. It appears that apparitions are appearing to passersby before the murder has taken place.”

“Fascinating.”

“Indeed. However, that is not why I have come to you today.”

“No?”

Vastra shook her head and a spike of disappointment flared inside of you. For a moment there you thought that you were being invited to join on another of her fabulous adventures. They truly were the highlights of your month. In the company of Vastra, Jenny and Strax, you had learned so much about the world that you would never have imagined possible before but it wasn’t enough.

You wanted to know more, to understand this universe in a way you had never desired prior to crossing their path. This was a wonderful age for enlightenment and scientific discovery and theories but reading journals and attending lectures was nothing compared to experiencing it with your own eyes.

Trailing her gloved fingers along your banister, Vastra pulled you to your feet and explained, “During our investigations concerning the apparitions, Strax heard strange talk from the sailors of a building on the docks.”

“What of it?”

“According to a young fisherman, the building was not present three days ago. It appeared suddenly over night and none of the docksmen know anything about it. There is no response upon knocking and the windows appear unbreakable.” Anticipating your question, Vastra added, “If our young friend is to be believed, a fight broke out among visiting sailors. It got quite out of hand by his account but where the other windows were shattered as the men threw their weight around those on this building were able to withstand impressive force.”

You nodded thoughtfully, considering all the possibilities as she spoke. “Have you checked with the city records?”

She nodded, her expression almost offended that you thought that wouldn’t be her first point of call. “According to the city, no such building exists in that location. It is between two factories, barely ten feet across, far too small for permission of construction to be granted.”

“What would you have me to do?”

“Investigate. I do not expect trouble however…”

Understanding, you reached around her to grab your shabby purple coat from the rack. Slipping it on, you pulled your trusty dagger from the inside pocket and smirked at the way Vastra’s brow furrowed. You tucked the weapon back into its resting place, stretching the silence as long as you dared to savour the rare moment of knowing more than the Great Detective.

“It sits within the lining, yes? Remarkable how it does not show at all.”

“I assure you the lining is intact. The pockets are larger than they appear. Practically never ending.” Her eyes widened, very much the response you had expected from such a claim. “Truly spectacular. I have never worked out what sort of magic or science is responsible but they are simply bigger on the inside.”

Almost impossibly, Vastra’s expression grew even more bewildered as if your words sparked something curiously protective within her. “From whom did you acquire this coat?”

You had to think about it for a long moment. When your mind drew a blank, you crouched down and pulled your notebook from a hidden compartment within your bottom stair. Flicking through the pages filled with maps of places which no longer existed, recollections of events which had been forgotten by history and pressed flowers with annotations describing when, where and with who they had been made, you soon found the pages you were searching for.

A face you hadn’t seen for decades smirked back at you, a man that went by the title of Master. If your shaky drawing was anything to go by, he was a handsome man indeed. You showed the pages to Madame Vastra who found no familiarity with the face. “How do you know this man? Why is he important?”

“Our paths cross every century or so. I cannot say whether he is important or not but I believe him an immortal, the same as me. Well,” you considered. “Perhaps not quite the same. It appears from my notes that I stab him with frequent and I suppose he must deserve it for something. What concerns you?”

“I do not know. This spectacular science and an ageless appearance suggests your friend may be more than human. And of course the unusual cut of the jacket… I know an equally fascinating man…” She grew thoughtful before the thought drifted away, replaced by ones of more urgency. Already halfway out the door, her veil back in place as she turned to face the outside world, Vastra said, “I should return to Jenny and Strax. I do apologise for my haste; you must join us for dinner at Paternoster Row this evening.”

“Thank you, friend. I should like that a lot.”

“It’s settled then. We shall come together this evening to discuss the day’s findings. Do take care by the docks.”

You smiled graciously. “When have I ever been reckless, Madame Vastra?”

***

It was not difficult to find the miraculously appearing house. Rumours spread like wildfire around the area and you were met with fanciful stories of ghosts, demons and even conspiracies which claimed the ruling class were dispensing some kind of toxic gas into the air to confuse the fishermen and convince them to sell their goods for less. It was all quite unbelievable.

“Oi, purple coat! Wait up!”

The young boy’s words were perfectly clear despite the bustling noise of the docks. You turned towards him, ready to tell the enthusiastic child that you weren’t currently in the market for a hundred pounds of slightly off fresh, but burst into a smile when you caught his familiar face.

“Young Master Fred, where are your manners?”

He bowed his head apologetically, wiping his grubby hands on the his already filthy trousers. “Sorry, miss. Didn’t think you’d ‘ear me notherwise. Did Strax send ya? Was me what first told ‘im bout the ‘ouse. It’s just round from ‘ere.”

“Could you take me there, Fred?”

“Well…” The dark haired boy – you could never work out whether his was naturally black or if it was simply the thick London dirt and soot which gave the colour – shifted on his heels, glancing at the crate where he had just been sitting. “Master Briddy gave me thruppence to keep an eye out for trouble.”

You had to admire his gall. So young but already so aware of how the world worked, so capable of manipulating others in his favour. Almost proud of him, you pulled a shilling from your purse and held it out in the palm of your hand. “I’m certain this will cover you for five minutes as you show me where the building is.”

Fred snatched the coin and shoved it in his pocket without any further protest or hesitation. While you were hardly rich, you could spare the change – especially as you knew that would feed his entire family tonight. He grabbed your hand and tugged you down the street, weaving a path around the dock workers with practised skill.

“Just through ‘ere, miss. Watch out; it’s slippy down this bit.” Fred gripped your hand tighter as if he would be at all capable of catching you if you did fall. It was sweet, really. “Nearly there now.”

Stepping out from the dark into the bright morning sunlight, your eyes adjusted quickly and you stared at the row of desolate buildings with interest. None of them appeared obviously out of place. Each showed signs of age, coated in a thin second skin of London grime, however you soon picked out the structure in question.

“It is that one on the left, correct?”

Fred nodded. “That’s it, miss. Windows won’t break. Look!”

Before you could caution him against it, Fred grabbed a small rock and launched it at the glass. You braced yourself for the shatter but the stone simply bounced off the surface with a dull clunk. Fascinating. Not a single mark on the glass.

You pulled another coin from your purse and the young boy practically vibrated in excitement when you offered it to him. “Thank you for your assistance, Master Fred. You’d best get back to the docks before Master Briddy realises you have deserted your post.”

“Be safe, miss!”

Waving him off, you turned back to the house and strode up to the front door. The air tingled as you lifted a hand to knock on the door, an impossible barrier preventing you from actually touching the wooden surface. No wonder the windows were unbreakable; they were protected by an invisible field. You had never seen anything like it.

Although incredibly curious, you erred on the side of caution and pulled your trusted blade from your pocket. Better to be safe than sorry. Using the hilt of your dagger, you thumped against the barrier and called, “Is anybody home?”

So certain that you wouldn’t receive an answer, you practically leapt back off the front step when the door clicked open. Hidden by shadows, you couldn’t identify the person inside but you felt their intense glare on you like fire on your skin. A long moment later, the door opened fully and The Master groaned, “You again?”

“Charmed to see you too, Master.”

He straightened slightly, annoyance edging towards interest. “So you actually remember me this time? It’s only taken you a three hundred years.”

“As fate would have it, I read about our previous encounters this very morning.” You tucked your blade back into your jacket, trusting that you wouldn’t have drawn him in your journal if he hadn’t been a trustworthy man.

“What do you want, Grace?”

“That is not my name.”

The Master rolled his eyes, fingers twitching on the edge of the door frame as he no doubt considered slamming it in your face. “We go over this every time. You have never given me your true name and at this point I don’t care either way. Why are you here?”

“Madame Vastra asked me to investigate the sudden appearance of a house in the docks – your house, it appears.”

“Is Vastra the Silurian or the Sontaran?”

“You still speak in strange tongues, Master.”

“Is she the green lizard or the grumpy potato?”

“The green lizard…” you answered slowly.

“Silurian, then. I see you’ve finally opened your mind to the reality of non-human life.”

His tone suggested that non-terrestrial lifeforms should have been an obvious part of existence but there was something else in his voice other than superiority; you could almost mistake it for hopefulness, perhaps even pride, that you were finally taking a step into his world.

The Master regarded you for a few more seconds, studied your attire and eyed your coat with jealousy, before sighing deeply and opening the door wide open. He pressed his hand against you chest as you stepped forward and warned, “Say something intelligent or I will push you into the Thames.”

Confused but certain that he would do no such thing, you stepped inside his home and felt the air rush from your lungs as you took in the fantastical sight. This was unlike anything you had ever seen before. Even Verne and Wells would have their mind boggled by this.

In the centre of the room, a large crystal tube which filled the space with a soft light and illuminated strange black and golden circular patterns that lined every edge. You staggered back as the column began to move, like pistons in an engine, and a familiar hum filled the air – a sound which had lingered in your dreams for centuries.

Most impressively, most _impossibly,_ the room extended far beyond what was physically possible. From the outside, the building was barely ten foot wide as Vastra had claimed. Inside, it had to stretch at least three times that and the ceiling seemed as far away as the sky itself. It was truly spectacular.

You turned to The Master, who watched you with arms folded across his chest, waiting for your response to determine his own actions. In this new light, he appeared almost ethereal and memories you had long since forgotten bubbled to the surface, fragments of images and events which belonged in fiction not reality.

Faced with such insanity, it was all you could do not to laugh. This was amazing. Tracing the nearest swirling pattern on the wall, you turned to the man and said, “This is your ship. Your…”

You felt the word forming on your tongue, memories of silver spheres in France pulled to the front of your mind by an external force. The central column shimmered brighter and if this wasn’t insanity enough you might have believed that the ship itself was assisting you in remembering the conversation long since lost to time. “Your TARDIS. This means you -”

“Go on.”

“You are not of this Earth.”

“I’m insulted you ever thought I could be from a place so dull.”

“Master…”

He tilted his head to the side, trying to gauge your reaction. “Yes?”

A huge smile burst across your face. “This is brilliant!”


	8. Chapter 8

Spinning around, you took in the magnificence of the TARDIS. It was beyond words, like something from a dream. As you ran your fingers along the bookshelves, you looked back to The Master and asked, “What science makes this possible?”

“Timelord science.”

“I have never encountered them before.”

“Consider yourself lucky.”

“Are they an academy from across the continent?”

“A little further afield than that, Grace. Oh, now, that is interesting.” He jumped up the steps to the central platform and started to fiddle with flicks and switches, the most complex interface to an engine you had ever encountered. “How did I miss that? I should’ve realised straight away.”

You joined him by the controls and stared at a square frame, filled with moving pictures and symbols you couldn’t identify. They moved with such speed that you had no time to study them but The Master seemed to understand it perfectly. “What does it mean?”

He threw his arm around your waist, pulling you in front of him and positioning you for a perfect view of the moving images. The Master reached around to point out a circular design that flickered between two states, his breath warm on your neck. “See that? This tells me that you are the problem. You’re the reason the TARDIS keeps looping back to this miserable place.”

The sharp bite of a dagger – _your_ dagger – against your palm had you jumping back in shock. The Master grabbed your wrist and dragged you towards the central pillar once more. For a short man, he had strength unimaginable and you stood no chance in breaking away. You didn’t fight as he turned your hand over and your blood dripped down onto the flickering work station. 

An angry groaning filled the room, the mechanical devices around the column burst to life. You tried to draw back but The Master held your hand in place until the ship screamed. It was a horrendous noise, a desperate cry from the depths of its soul. You felt it in every cell of your body, stars bursting into existence, burning through life and then meeting a cold, lonely end. Life and death, joy and sorrow. It tore your mind in two and stitched the jagged edges back together, the harsh lines scratching against each other, never quite right again.

You wanted to fall to your knees and beg forgiveness for causing the ship harm, to apologise for your presence, your very existence. In all your years of life, all of your many deaths, you had never felt such pain. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the small pool of blood on the console. They sparked marvellously, although the beauty was lost to you in those long, never ending moments of suffering. 

“Let me die,” you pleaded. If this was what eternal life was going to be like, then you would rather him take pity on you now and end it once and for all. So much loss and suffering; you couldn’t bear to face it. “Please, let me die.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” The Master said, releasing his grip. Too weak to scramble away, you collapsed in a heap at his feet. He crouched down and shifted your position so you were supported by the solid surface behind you. As he met your gaze, the red lights beneath the counter top harshly illuminating the pain in your eyes, The Master’s expression shifted. Not a small subtle shift, the kind you’d come to expect from him; it was like his entire world changed, deep concern bursting from the depths as he realised you meant what every word.

You saw his mouth move but couldn’t pick out a single thing, other than: “Grace?”

“Master, I can’t breathe…”

His hand hovered over the right side of your chest, then shifted to the left over your heart. With a light touch, he pressed against you chest, grounding you, linking you together. “Look at me,” he ordered, his voice low, hypnotic. It flowed over your skin, drowning out the TARDIS’s wailing, as you lost yourself in his dark eyes. “That’s it. I – The TARDIS – she didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s too much, I can’t -”

“You can. Focus on me, Grace. Block out everything else. Feel your heart beating. Feel mine.”

He grabbed your wrist and placed your hand in the centre of his chest, the strange double beat instantly capturing your attention. Strong, steady, it reigned in your thoughts until it was the only sound you could hear, the only thing you could feel. The Master didn’t break your gaze once the entire time, instead maintaining an intense connection that would have left you feeling quite uncomfortable if you weren’t so lost to your own pain and panic.

It was his brightly coloured waistcoat you focused on as you came back to yourself. The exact pattern, the clashing lines criss-crossing over his chest, the slightly rough texture against the pads of your fingers. You clung to the fabric for a good minute before your hand fell to your lap, The Master’s coming to rest on top, a light, reassuring pressure.

“Where are you?”

“On your ship.”

“What did you see?”

You began to describe the horrors but found the memories were unreachable. Each time you reached for one, it slipped through your fingers like sand through your fingers, lost to the beach below. Another grain in the masses, insignificant, unidentifiable. “I don’t remember.”

He nodded, careful as he tilted your head from side to side. “Good. It’s better that way. Doesn’t look like there was any brain damage. You should be fine.”

“What _did_ I see, Master? What did you do to me?”

“You’re a singularity, Grace. A fixed point in time that my TARDIS couldn’t shake. That’s why she kept dragging me back here. Your blood contains the genetic, temporal markers that map your existence so it acts as a sort of vaccine for her navigation system – you’ve got those, right? I always forget how long it takes humans to figure out the most basic sciences.”

“Vaccines are new science but I understand the theory,” you said slowly, trying to process exactly what he meant. “Your ship is alive?”

“In a sense. Either way, I didn’t realise that she would react so badly. It was an oversight.”

Bashing aside the flashing box in his hand, similar to the advanced technology Strax used to examine you, Jenny and Vastra for injuries, you said, “If you are trying to apologise, your approach leaves much to be desired.”

“I’m sorry, Grace.” Caught off guard by his sincerity, The Master wasted no time in pulling you to your feet and added, “If you tell anyone I said that, I will have to kill you.”

Despite everything, you laughed at his threat. Seeing that he had saved your life multiple times now, you found it difficult to believe. “Consider your secret safe with me. You still haven’t told me what I saw.”

“You saw everything. The TARDIS exists simultaneously at every point in space and time. She showed it to you all. Don’t try and wrap your head around it; human brains tend to explode if they try.”

“Is that how you see the universe?” He nodded. “How do you cope?”

“By blowing things up.”

“Droll, Master.”

A wicked grin spread across his face, terrifyingly maniacal if not for the slight sadness in his eyes. If he really spoke the truth, you couldn’t bring yourself to judge him. A few seconds of that had been absolute torture; you could only imagine what it would do to a mind after centuries. Perhaps destruction was his way of quietening the universe to bring clarity to the rest.

Perched against the edge of the central column, you reached up and stroked the crystal pillar. It vibrated beneath your fingers, purring almost like a cat. An exceptional machine indeed. “Your life seems to have come straight from fiction. You are from another planet and your ship is simply spectacular. It’s remarkable.”

“What’s your question?”

“Could you tell me about your people?”

“No.”

That was hardly unexpected. After all, if he was to be believed, where you had known him for centuries, The Master had only known you for a year or two at most. “Will you ever?”

“I doubt it.”

“That is your choice and I shall accept it. Perhaps, though… No, forget I spoke.”

“Don’t try to play games with me, Grace. Tell me straight what’s on your mind or don’t speak at all.”

“It won’t be long before my friends here pass. Fifty or sixty years may seem a long time for them but we both know that it will be over in the blink of an eye.”

The Master shoved his hands into his pockets, void of the smallest spark of sympathy. How many had he lost? You knew the answer, for it was the same as you: too many. “Get to the point.”

“Your ship can traverse time, yes? Perhaps, know that you are able to captain her without interference, you could choose to visit London more frequently.”

“Why would I do that?”

Was the man obtuse or did he simply thrive in making you squirm, having you spell out your very desires? Almost certainly the latter, if the amused lines around his eyes were anything to go by. With a strained smile on your face, already regretful that you brought it up in the first place, you said, “To visit me, Master. We are two of the same. I believe that it would be… pleasant to share this path with someone who won’t fade into the mists of time after a few decades.”

“I want my coat back.”

“I don’t believe your company is worth that high a price.”

His laugh bounced around the room, one of the best sounds you had ever heard. The Master opened his mouth to speak but then shook his head, twirling around to the opposite side of the column. Sounding far too put out for it to be a real compliment, he said, “I do like you, Grace. Now get off my ship before your lizard friend wonders where you’ve gone.”

“Was that your confirmation? Will you return soon?”

“Consider it an official maybe.”

Good enough for now, you were just about to cross the threshold when The Master called, “Oh, and Grace?”

“Yes, Master?”

“I still want my jacket back.”

“I shall think on it ‘til next we meet. Until then, my friend.”

“We aren’t friends!”

You stepped out of the door, a soft smile on your face. Perhaps not yet, but you had a certain feeling that it wouldn’t be long before you could call him such. That familiar groaning sounded in the air and you spun around to face the house, only to watch it vanish into nothing. Impossible. Brilliant.

With an even wider grin on your face, you hailed a horse and cart to take you to Paternoster Row, excited to share your findings with Jenny, Vastra and Strax. They wouldn’t believe what you’d seen.


	9. Chapter 9

“You look good, Master. Happier.”

“Thanks, I’m miserable.”

You hummed against the rim of your teacup, searching for the telltale sign that instead of joking he actually meant it. Since you ran into him in Victorian London, The Master had made good on his “maybe” and returned to Earth every few decades to visit you. Just as you had imagined, it was wonderful to have a friend you never had to worry about losing. 

Sometimes, your paths crossed five or six times a decade, other times you would go years without seeing him. Thankfully, since the millennia passed it had been far more of the former and you couldn’t help but think the reason you saw him so much was that, despite his numerous and vocal protests, he enjoyed your company as much as you did his.

A lack of facial hair made your assessment far easier; it was one less thing for him to hide behind and you appreciated the change. His lips were tight set and he held the teacup with such tense fingers that you knew this wasn’t a joke. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate this planet. The people and the noise. It’s just never ending and all they do is talk about pointless drivle. It’s Beyoncé this and Kardashians that. They have no regard for science or truth and this city stinks. The only thing that makes it tolerable is humanity’s wonderful aptitude for violence.”

“Bad day?”

“Bloody awful.”

You gently pushed the plate of biscuits towards him. “These will help, promise. My own recipe. Fifty years in the making,” you tempted. They truly were great biscuits and it wasn’t your ego talking, either; they had won multiple awards in the village baking competitions and even made it to the final of a few national ones as well. “The secret ingredient is -”

“Don’t tell me. Is it love? Happiness? Friendship?”

“Powdered milk with a dash of cocaine for fun.”

The Master threw his head back with laughter and grabbed one of the crumbling biscuits. He took a long bite, the coloured icing staining his lips blue, then frowned. “There’s no cocaine in here.”

“Still tastes good, though, doesn’t it?” He reluctantly nodded. “And it made you feel a bit better?” Annoyed, both at you and himself, The Master nodded once more. You reached across the table and placed your hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “Well, then, it did it’s job.”

“Sometimes, Grace, you really are annoyingly cheerful.”

One of the highest compliments you had ever received from the man, you took it with a smile and thanked him with complete sincerity. The Master was a strange one indeed but you’d come to love him and couldn’t quite imagine an eternity without him to poke fun at each other. It would be a sad day if ever you parted ways.

As was tradition between you now, you each finished your tea and then you pulled your diary from your bag. It was a miracle that it had remained in tact after almost two centuries but each page showed its age. You had to flick slowly through the delicate parchment with gloved hands to avoid tearing the weakened pages. Many of the drawings had faded now, done in pencil and long since smudged or wiped away by the oils on your hands. Only the thickest of lines remained from the early days, although the later ink scratchings were far more stable.

You reached the first of The Master’s pages, divided from the rest of the book by a shaky drawing of his face. You had done many more across the years and captured all of his emotions with much more success since that first attempt but it still held a certain charm even now. You knew from his stories that that particular meetings wasn’t the first time you ever met but it marked a turning point in your relationship nonetheless.

Observations on his dress and appearance filled the following pages, added to with each encounter, broadening your understanding of the man. There were stories of friendly dinners beside unbelievable tales of monsters and demons which you may have lived or simply assimilated from his own recollection of personal adventures. It didn’t really matter; what they told you was that life was always more exciting when The Master was around and, regardless of his hatred for your species, he never once let you be hurt.

You flicked through to the last page in the diary, a sadness in your heart that you had finally reached the end of the shabby book. Reading over your notes from your last meeting, almost three years ago now, you lifted your gaze to The Master and said, “You owe me an apology.”

“Sounds right. What for?”

“Says here that you agreed to take me for dinner in Morocco.” You gestured around your living room. “This is hardly Marakesh.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything but it is a downgrade from your last place.”

“I had to sell the manner in London. People were getting suspicious, spreading rumours about me being immortal.”

“They’re not rumours if they’re true, Grace.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Master. Either way, it had to go. I was sad to see it sold, though. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place for so long.”

The Master leaned back in his chair, visibly doing the mental maths as he worked out a) exactly when you were now and b) how long you had lived in the capital. “I make it about a hundred and twenty. You’ve never stayed any place that long?”

You shook your head, amused that he thought you would. At most you stayed the length of a lifetime or two in order to avoid being noticed. One set mother and daughter look alikes could be passed of as a matter of strong genetics. After two or three generations, it began to become quite questionable, especially when none of them were ever seen together.

What made it even funnier was that you knew for a fact that The Master himself never settled down at all. Aside from his TARDIS, he had no home in this universe. He flew around in that marvellous ship, running around and doing who knows what, never taking longer than a short lunch with you as a break.

“You’d be shocked how much property in the centre goes for now. I haven’t been this minted since I was leeching off the French aristocracy.”

“And with all that money, you bought this place? Really?”

“I like the countryside.”

“There are sheep in your garden.” He made it sound like a bad thing, turning his nose up at the very concept of owning animals.

“I am aware.” You glanced out the window, smiling as the fluffy creatures meandered about on their daily business of eating your flowers and bumping into fences. “I think it’s fitting that Vastra and Jenny get along so well. Strax is a little more… audacious than they are, though. I caught him last week trying to sneak into the barn where I keep the food for the chickens. For some reason, he really likes that. What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You’ve gone native.”

You had to laugh at that. Clearly in all your time together, he had simply forgotten that you were, actually, a human like the rest of the people with whom you shared this planet. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. And you’re one to talk, anyway. You’ve gone and gotten yourself a job.”

The Master’s eyes widened in surprise, something you realised you had never seen before. How long had he spent around humans, watching them and learning to mirror their responses? It was fascinating. “How do you know about that?”

Taking a biscuit from the plate yourself, you hummed at the perfect blend of sweet and spicy flavours. Not to toot your own horn but they really were great, and such luck to have a freshly baked set on the very day The Master dropped in unannounced for tea.

“A hundred and twenty years is a long time to set the foundations of something, as I’m sure you well know. The Paternoster gang and I made quite a name for ourselves. I met some very interesting people along the way and I’ve had friends in each new government ever since. I never realised that Charles would work his way up to being the head of MI6 when I was playing tennis with his mother but you’d be surprised what he’s willing to share with an old family friend.”

“For the love of – would you just ask your questions, already? You know I hate when you dance around them.”

“I have two.”

He nodded, helping himself to another biscuit. “Ask away, then.”

“One: Why on Earth did you join MI6 and not UNIT? You’re making a lot of noise about aliens and it’s going to get you noticed.”

“What’s the other question?”

“Why, for the love of all things beautiful in the world, did you decide to call yourself O?”

“It’s a joke.”

“Yeah and you’re the butt of it. Come on, tell me. I wanna know.”

“Spoilers.”

You sank into your chair and groaned, sick of hearing that. Most of the time you had no idea what he meant by it anyway but god was it annoying to be brushed off like a child. Well, if he wasn’t going to tell you then you would work it out yourself. You’d gotten pretty good at it over the centuries.

Tapping your fingers against the wooden tabletop, you mused, “I suppose being an alien in UNIT would be quite difficult, so I get not going to them. Plus, you clearly aren’t trapped on Earth because your TARDIS is still working fine.”

You glanced out the window to the little shed in the corner of your garden, which absolutely hadn’t been there this morning when you woke up, and felt a flare of longing for the ship. You hadn’t stepped foot inside since that incident back in 1895 but many nights had been squandered on impossible dreams of returning to the ship and having The Master whisk you away on an adventure.

“So, MI6 must have something that interests you. Oh! Oh, I get the joke now. How clever. Anyway, you must have a scheme running of some kind to degrade yourself and play human -” While you would never consider it a downgrade to be human, you knew The Master would. “So, it’s something to do with The Doctor. Am I close?”

They were the one thing The Master refused to ever go into detail about. No matter how hard you pushed after Vastra had told you about this incredible man that could change his face, The Master fiercely protected his secrets. Eventually, you gave up asking but the curiosity never quite went away.

As you’d noted, having connections with multiple key figures in the intelligence agency proved useful and a wonderful woman, Kate Stewart, who having learned of your immortality had once tried to recruit you for UNIT, tempted you with details of the Timelord’s life. That short conversation meant you were no longer quite as in the dark as you once had been but still lacked many important details about their relationship. What you did know was that The Master would do anything to get The Doctor’s attention, even if it suffering as he pretended to be a human.

He gave you no answer, instead biting down on a third biscuit, but you took that as proof that you were right. When it came to The Master, you knew that his silence often spoke volumes louder than his words.

“Well, whatever it is you’re planning, good luck with it. It’s not really my business. What I do want to know, though, is how you’ve been coping with the people around the office. I can imagine that O has captured their attentions.”

“They’re almost as annoying as you, Grace.”

You touched your hand to your chest and said, “You charmer.”

Leaning in, The Master lowered his voice and grumbled, “I can’t get them to leave me alone.”

“Just tell them you’re in a relationship.”

“With who?”

You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter! Just let them know you’re taken and they’ll back off. Unless, of course, you hit them with that wonderful smile and then not even that will stop them from throwing themselves at you.”

His lips turned up in a wicked smirk, the kind you knew he saved only for you. It was both playful and knowing, superior and friendly. It lit up his face like sunlight and left your heart beating a little faster than before. In the moments when he smiled, the rest of the world seemed a little less horrible and you knew that you had found someone special in The Master.

“How are you so positive, Grace? Everywhere you look on this pathetic little planet there is death and destruction and yet here you are with your baking and your sheep, carrying on as if there is still joy to be found.”

“That’s because there is,” you answered plainly. “It doesn’t matter how shit the world gets; there is always something to live for. Sometimes it is the people we lose to carry their memories even though they’re gone. Other times it’s for ourselves to experience something new in the world. Admittedly, I am reaching an age where it is beginning to get difficult to find new things – everything is just another way of doing the same old tasks – but I do not have the energy to be angry or sad any more. It’s easier to be happy.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I know but it’s the truth. I live in hope for a better future. One day, I’ll be able to get on a rocket ship and explore the stars. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll have adventures to rival yours.”

“You wouldn’t have any fun without me there to cause trouble.”

“Consider it an open invitation, then. Doesn’t sound too bad, really. You and me, travelling the universe together. I can think of worse ways to pass an eternity.”

The Master’s smile faltered slightly as the true meaning of your words set in. It was a long shot, a brave attempt at getting what you wanted, and when he rose from the chair you knew that it had gone wide. He wasn’t ready to commit to that, to anything, and that was okay. It wasn’t like you didn’t have the time to spare.

Piling biscuits into his hand, The Master then decided to simply drop them back down and take the entire plate instead. He turned on his heels and paused at the doorway, grappling with himself for an adequate response before he vanished for another few years. In the end, he settled simply for snatching his old, tattered coat from your hanger. “This is mine.”

You leant against the kitchen door frame, more amused by his behaviour than offended. “Technically, since I’ve been its owner for almost four hundred years, I believe it’s actually mine.”

“There’s barely anything left of the original thing,” he groaned, studying the heavily patchworked fabric.

“The pockets are still original,” you pointed out. No matter what you did to the jacket, you never managed to make a tear in those. Truly unbelievable science at work, there. You supposed that being attached to a literal pocket dimension probably helped in their sturdiness. “You are going to come back, aren’t you?”

He lifted his arm and gave a little wave, not turning to face you. “Thanks for the biscuits, Grace.”

“Master!” You jogged after him, wove through the army of sheep on your lawn, and caught his arm just before he made it the shed-slash-TARDIS.

“What do you want now?”

“A picture for the new diary.”

“I’m trying to make a dramatic exit here, love. Sitting down so you can sketch me won’t really work with what I’m going for.”

You whipped a phone out of your back pocket, a marvellous innovation from the past few years. You held it up and snapped a picture of The Master, captivated by how the soft filter and angle of light over his shoulder made him appear almost angelic. “Wonderful things, eh?”

“Haven’t you got me memorised by now?” The Master asked, leaning against the door to his TARDIS, apparently no longer so interested in making a grand exit. “Even your pathetic brain should be able to hold memories for a few years at a time.”

“Oh, I can recognise you alright but you know how it is. Faces fade eventually.” Before you could talk yourself out of it, before sensibility kicked in, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and said, “I don’t want yours to be one of them. Take care, Master. If you ever need a friend, you know where to find me.”

Turning your back on him was harder than you had expected. Still, the pain of saying goodbye never lingered long when you knew that you’d see him again. You closed your eyes as the TARDIS disappeared into the vortex, listening for the final cry before silence inevitably fell over your little cottage.


	10. Chapter 10

“Was this the man?” you asked, holding out your phone for the woman to inspect. She didn’t need to answer; her wide eyed expression did it for her. Pocketing the device, you lamented how it barely fit into your jacket and left a large, unflattering bulge in the side. It was almost a decade since The Master had snatched back his coat and you were still adjusting to the limits of human fashion.

Trying not to allow your excitement show, hopeful that you could contain your emotions and be respectful around her poorly deceased husband, you asked lightly, “Do you know where he is based?”

Disappointment bloomed as she shook her head. So close to finding The Master after years of searching, listening for rumours, only to reach another wall. Dabbing at her eyes with a flowery handkerchief, clearly aged and passed down through generations, the young woman said sadly, “He didn’t say.”

“What did he want with your husband, Mrs Oladi?”

“He wanted an interview for some kind of green peace newspaper. Jonathon works – worked – in a lab where they were experimenting with new power sources. I don’t know exactly what he did but your man seemed very interested in it. They spoke about the potential environment impact of the production plant and the effects a meltdown could have on the area.”

That did not sound good. You’d long since learned that trouble followed The Master like a shadow but were only now beginning to consider that it was because he caused it. With an experimental reactor in his hands, who knew the damage he would be capable of reaping. “Jonathon… Did he have a security pass at home?”

Mrs Oladi nodded and rose from her chair to find it. You were not surprised when she found the drawer empty. “Did he take it? Is he responsible for doing this to my Johnny?”

“Unfortunately, I think he might be. I will find him. You have my word.”

She smiled tightly, unable to draw much solace from your words. Understandable, really, seeing how her husband had been murdered before her very eyes, shrunken down to a miniaturised version of himself. At least he wouldn’t need a big coffin, but you suspected that wasn’t of much comfort to the widow right now.

Excusing yourself quietly from her home, you drew up records of nearby labs and soon found the address for where Jonathon had worked. Whatever The Master was up to, you felt it was your duty to stop him. After all, who else possibly could?

From the outside, the IsoTech labs looked like any other industrial building on the estate. The walls were coated in grey concrete, a swirling pattern set into the thick, ugly stone. The windows were tinted so no curious onlookers could peak inside and security cameras guarded every inch of the complex.

You hovered around the outside gates until a scientist walked past you, on the way to the car park. You slammed into the woman, apologising profusely as you picked her pocket for a security pass to get you into the building. Plagued by only a mild guilt, you walked inside with head held high and weren’t stopped once as you strode through the labs.

Sometimes, the universe worked in strange ways and today it was clearly on your side. Half way up the back stairs, you heard a familiar tune. The Master hummed cheerfully as he cannibalised a wiring panel, effortlessly bypassing security measures to rewire the building for some no doubt nefarious reason.

Climbing up to meet him, you leant against the hard concrete wall, arms folded over your chest and waited to be noticed. Unsurprisingly, he was so lost in his task that it was only when you tapped your fingers against the wall that he actually turned towards you.

He whipped out his TCE and pointed it straight at you, somehow still threatening despite waving around what looked like a combination between a matchbox and a grenade. The Master’s gaze was dark, angry at being disturbed, but he was clearly calm enough not to shoot first and ask questions later. You were grateful for that, not keen to end your days as a tiny doll version of yourself, and it wasn’t long before recollection soon sparked in his beautiful eyes.

“Grace! I was not expecting to see you today.” The Master jumped down from the top step, his – your – purple coat bouncing as he landed. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, obviously.”

His hand rose to his chest. “I’m touched. I’m a bit busy today, though, so if you don’t mind… Places to be, reactors to overload.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m bored.”

“What has gotten in to you?”

“You wouldn’t – well, maybe you would. How old are you now, Grace?”

“It’s rude to ask a lady her age.” You shrugged. If your diaries were to be believed, if The Master’s tales were at all accurate, you could date your life back to at least the 1400s. In your heart, though, you knew you had been on this planet for far, far longer than that. “I don’t know. A thousand. Maybe more. I can’t really remember.”

“You look good for it.” The compliment was surprisingly sincere as The Master’s gaze roamed across your body. Quick as the interest appeared, it was replaced by something far more serious as he explained, “Imagine that for all that time, someone kept a secret from you. Something so important that it would change the entire way you viewed the universe. They stole the knowledge of your own life, made you forget and then denied it all existed. A piece of you, your very core, taken and twisted and forgotten.”

“That would suck.”

He laughed harshly. “You used to be far more eloquent, you know.”

“Your point?”

“If you relearned what you’d forgotten, found out that you weren’t who you thought you were, it would change you. Right?” You nodded. “Exactly. Well, that’s what happened. I learned the truth about myself and I hate it.”

“So you’re going to blow up Lower Bournemouth to feel better? You killed an innocent man. Shrunk him down for what? To feel big and mighty?”

He jumped down that final step and clapped you on the back, a wild grin on his face. “You get it!”

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“That’s what makes it fun.”

Nothing about this was right. You knew, of course you did, that The Master was dangerous. While he’d never turned that anger and hatred on you, history proved as such. There was a long trail of bodies left behind in his wake, destruction and death which you’d never been around to stop. However, this was different. This wasn’t the wild mania of a man looking for a cheap thrill – if the lives of thousands could be considered a low price. It was so much sadder.

Suddenly, his earlier words came back to you. “Who were you expecting?”

“What?”

“You said you weren’t expecting me. Who was this stunt supposed to attract?”

“It doesn’t matter. I doubt she’ll come anyway. No-one has heard from her in months. Probably went and got herself killed. Of course she’d do that without me, too.”

“Master…” You didn’t know what you were trying to say, whether you were offering sympathies or hope that his friend was still alive. You had no idea what he wanted to hear or, more importantly, what he needed to hear. Perhaps, you realised, it was nothing. If that was the case, there was only one course.

You closed the gap between you and pulled him into a hug. He was stiff in your arms but made no motion to pull away, no forceful attempt to break your hold. You stayed that way for a long minute and just as you were about to give up you felt him twitch against you. His arms slowly came up around your waist, his face turned into your neck and The Master gave himself over completely to the embrace.

Sighing against his cheek, the thick stubble scratching your smooth skin, you lifted a hand and gently raked your fingers through his dark hair. You whispered in his ear that he wasn’t alone, that you would always be here for him. And that was what broke him. All the tension and anger vanished, giving way to sadness and fear and loneliness. It was a feeling you understood so well, probably better than any other person in the solar system.

When The Master finally broke free, he scratched his fingers down his face as if clawing away any sign of emotion. He met your gaze with a wicked grin, empty and hollow, and said, “I’m still going to burn this place to the ground.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Then what, Grace? What do I do to make it stop?”

“My name is Y/N.”

The Master was quick to hide his surprise behind a look of disgust, although he was too slow to stop you from seeing the warmth in his eyes. “I think I prefer Your Grace.”

“Of course you do,” you said, rolling your eyes so hard it hurt. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you should come back to mine for tea and biscuits and then we can hop in your TARDIS and you can take me on an adventure around the stars.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’ve waited a thousand years for an invitation and you’re clearly never going to take the hint. Plus, you need someone to stop you.”

The Master slammed his fist against the wall. “You couldn’t stop me.”

“I can still try.”

He took a long breath, shaking his head. The Master continued down the stairs but when he reached the bottom, instead of turning down the hallway to the labs, he kicked open the fire door. The alarm sounded, ear piercing in intensity but fading to the background almost instantly. Gesturing for you to lead the way, he said, “What kind of biscuits?”

“Ginger snaps. Your favourite.”

“One trip. You get one trip then I’m bringing you back to this miserable planet. Deal?”

You eyed him seriously. “One more thing.”

“You’re already trying my patience, Y/N. Don’t push it.”

Hearing him say your name brought a warmth to your chest. It was remarkable how something so simple could carry such weight. A thousand years of mutual interest and fascination which had, against all odds, developed into a strange friendship and trust now finally voiced in a single word.

Honestly, he should have known. There was only ever one thing you wanted from him.

You hovered in the doorway and pressed your hand to his chest, sliding it slowly up his horrendous yet somehow annoyingly aesthetic waistcoat. Your fingers crept over his shoulder and The Master stiffened, until realisation suddenly hit. He rolled his eyes then shrugged the old, familiar jacket off his frame.

You grinned, slipping the old jacket over your own. It smelt different to how you remembered, indescribable yet somehow familiar, like he had captured the scent of the universe during his travels. Offering your hand, you were genuinely shocked when The Master accepted the gesture.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said. “I don’t have friends. You’re basically going to be a pet.”

“A pet? Really?”

He hummed in agreement, not really paying your amusement any more attention than it deserved, swerving off on a path to the left. The Master strode down the street with confidence but after the third time doubling back and retracing his steps you asked, “Have you lost the TARDIS?”

“Not lost. Misplaced. I know she’s here somewhere.”

“Not the best start to our adventure.”

“Keep your snark to yourself, Y/N. Be helpful or I’ll leave you here.”

Without needing to be told again, you began systematically checking the lamp posts for any sign that they weren’t immediately all they appeared. For almost an hour you searched the street before The Master suddenly called your name. You spun around, drawn to his joy from across the road. “I’ve found her!”

A little voice in your head told you that you couldn’t risk dawdling, fearful that The Master might leave without you, so you sprinted towards him and his remarkable spaceship. The street lamp above you flickered warmly as the TARDIS welcomed you back, and The Master’s disembodied hand appeared as he pulled you inside, ready for a brand new adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this fic! Thank you for reading <3


End file.
